


sailing beyond the blue skies

by lingeringdust



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, Doctor Who, JYJ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lingeringdust/pseuds/lingeringdust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this was written back in 2010 (?) as my way of coping with DBSK splitting and because I had an insane idea to add Doctor Who in here. posting just because.</p><p>Jaejoong wakes and it's a completely different universe. One where he must reunite his fellow bandmates -- except they've never met. </p><p>incomplete & will never be updated. (sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sailing beyond the blue skies

 

_**i.                    runaway** _

__

hey how are u doing ^^

 

Changmin stares blankly at the white text until his cell phone screen darkens. He looks over to his left, across the plane’s aisle, and watches Yunho’s lips curve up into a smile and knows that Yunho had gotten one as well. Maybe it would say the exact same thing, maybe something else, something else entirely. Maybe it would have an extra emoticon, one of the ones that he always liked to use. Maybe it wouldn’t. Changmin slides his phone shut.

 

He also knows that, unlike himself, Yunho would answer. (For the both of them).

 

***

 

Jaejoong hopes that maybe Changmin’s only changed his number.

 

“Hyung, you alright?”

 

Jaejoong spins around and finds the worried faces of Junsu and Yoochun. Putting on his best smile, he agrees with a quick affirmative and follows them towards the set. “You guys want to go out tonight?” he asks. And to Jaejoong’s chagrin, Yoochun cheers and declares with an arm over Junsu’s shoulder that Jaejoong will be paying tonight.

 

They spend the night drinking and laughing and crying, reminiscing about times and how much they missed some people. They talked about their newest songs and their albums until they’re tired of listening to work-related subjects and end up singing the rest of the night, humming and singing broken lyrics, singing songs with missing parts.

 

Yoochun ends up dragging everyone back in a taxi because Junsu passes out and Jaejoong’s already clumsy enough without the alcohol (with alcohol, it’s worse). They’re too tired to undress and tidy up for bed so they all collapse onto Jaejoong’s bed because his is the biggest. (And, well, Yoochun tosses Junsu onto the bed and the two soulmates drop next to the sleeping angel.)

 

“Yoochun?” Jaejoong groggily asks.

 

Yoochun murmurs something and Jaejoong smiles. He grasps Yoochun’s hand tightly and tries to grab Junsu’s from Yoochun’s other side, but gives up after a few moments of flailing. He chooses to snuggle up close to Yoochun instead.

 

“Good night.”

 

And before Jaejoong can pass out, he grabs his phone, and sends out two more texts.

 

They cuddle close together even though it’s not really that cold out. There’s a large empty space on Jaejoong’s other side, large enough to fit two very tall males.

 

***

 

Jaejoong wakes up knowing something’s wrong.

 

He wakes up with a sense of panic, sitting straight up, thinking blindly that, oh, hell, he’s late but quickly sobers when he realizes that it’s their day off. His panic hits his face again when he realizes that Yoochun’s not curled up next to him and Junsu’s not snoring loud enough. Jaejoong knows it’s not past nine in the morning so why the hell would they be up already?

 

His third thought is that he’s not in the same place he fell asleep. He hides his panic, and grumbles about being out cold, having his little dongsaeng drag him from the comforts of their little hotel room to some random apartment just to pull a prank and that it really wasn’t very funny at all.

 

“Yoochun-ah! Junsu-ah!” he yells at the top of his hoarse lungs, heart leaping to the opening of his throat. He coughs—not enough water, he thinks, and gets up. “There better be a very good reason for this!” he continues as he makes his way out of the room and towards where he thinks is the kitchen.

 

“And I mean, very!”

 

There’s no sign of them and even after downing three glasses of water and heading to the bathroom for a quick fix, there’s still no noise.

 

And that’s when Jaejoong really starts to panic.

 

The first thing he does is make a dash back to where he had woken up. He dives onto the bed, crawls back in, covers and all, and shuts his eyes tight. He counts to ten and pinches his arm. For five minutes. When he’s finally assured that he isn’t dreaming, the crook of his elbow has an ugly blue and purple bruise. Tiny, but slightly painful.

 

There’s a laptop lying less than a meter away from him and Jaejoong pulls it towards him. The screen is blank, but there’s a large crack in the middle of the darken screen, hug and right across the interface like a smug grin that reminded him of—

 

It was annoying.

 

He waits for the laptop to boot up and meanwhile, finally takes the time to survey the room he has woken up in. It’s a rather familiar-looking room, actually. Plain, off-white walls face him and there’s a rather large (for such a small apartment) closet to his left. On his right side, there’s a window and Jaejoong allows his impulsiveness to drag him over.

 

As he pulls the peach blossom decorated curtains open, he stares down at the empty venues of South Korea and knows there is something absolutely wrong about the silence in the streets.

 

He backs away from the window and remembers falling asleep in America, but for some reason, he had landed in South Korea. Ridiculous and wild ideas about being kidnapped and taken for ransom begin to fall into place in his head, and he rushes towards the front door. His hand grabs tightly onto the door knob and turns it and he finds it can’t turn it.

 

“Damn it,” Jaejoong curses and begins pounding the door. “Hey! Whoever you are! Let me out!” he starts yelling, screaming at the top of his lungs.

 

He yells for approximately two minutes before his doorbell rings and he finally stops and stares at his door. And realizes that it was just still locked.

 

Jaejoong bows his head and discreetly pats his hair down as he opens the door, keeping eyes pinned to the ground.

 

“D’you mind?” his neighbor asks, voice groggy and full of sleep and Jaejoong can’t help but think it’s oddly familiar.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jaejoong jabbers, “I was just—I just had a—“ he looks up and stares into the face of Jung Yunho.

 

The alarmed face of Jung Yunho.

 

“Jaejoong,” he says, eyes completely wide and bewildered now, as though he had only just woken up. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

 

Jaejoong’s mouth hangs open like a fish and he can’t find the words to speak to Yunho. Yunho, who looks just as young as two years ago. Yunho, who looks just as tanned from their comeback to Korea. Yunho, who looks just so plain and normal, just like their predebut days. Yunho, whose height Jaejoong had abused when he had taken to throwing things at their leader back when--

 

“Jaejoong? Are you okay?” Yunho asks. He guides the shocked Jaejoong back into his apartment and makes his way to the kitchen. “If you weren’t feeling well, you could have just told me!” he calls from the kitchen, “did you call in sick yet?”

 

The phone rings before Jaejoong can answer and Yunho mutters a “guess not” as he picks up the phone.

 

As Yunho begins a conversation with the other person, Jaejoong’s head is filled with wild and impossible ideas about time traveling and alternate universes, parallel worlds, and crossing over—all thanks to those late nights accompanying Changmin in his sci-fi movie fest, with a large bowl of popcorn tucked under one arm. Jaejoong’s eyes swims frantically from the blank walls, showcasing almost nothing, until he notices a Dong Bang Shin Ki poster. And it’s only when he stops and stares at it that he realizes that the faces are of vague boys he’d briefly met back home, back where things were right, and that the faces staring back at Jaejoong weren’t Yunho or Yoochun or Junsu or Changmin.

 

Not even himself.

 

He jumps as Yunho’s shadow falls across him and he’s made aware of the other man’s presence.

 

“You don’t look too well…” Yunho says, staring straight at Jaejoong’s face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t sleep until late, again.”

 

Jaejoong doesn’t answer and only looks away. Yunho was half right. Although Jaejoong did fall asleep late, he didn’t actually know if the other Jaejoong, the true one that lived in this current world, had gone to sleep early… well, that is, if parallel worlds and alternate universes existed. Were those two the same thing?

 

He allows Yunho to walk him back to his room and even allows him to—blushing slightly—tuck him in.

 

“Yunho,” he says, as Yunho begins to head back out. “How did we meet?” he asks, and knows it’s a strange question considering the situation, but he can’t help himself and wonders.

 

If he’s surprised, Yunho does wonders at hiding it.

 

“I helped you when you moved to Seoul,” he says, “we both wanted to be singers. But after what happened, you decided it was no longer plausible.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Yunho turns around and walks back towards Jaejoong.

 

He sighs and says, “Jaejoong,” and he pauses, “you need to wake up.”

 

“What are you talking about?” he snaps, sitting straight up in bed now. He stares straight into Yunho’s eyes and Yunho stares straight back at him, expectantly, as though he expected Jaejoong to give in and say “oh, you got me, happy April Fool’s day”. Almost like this was a daily occurrence.

 

“If you’re not going to give up, I’m just going to leave… I have practice in an hour,” Yunho says and leaves without another word.

 

Jaejoong doesn’t think about how Yunho says “practice” but concludes that he is stuck in some sort of alternate universe.

 

He lies back down and wishes he was home.

 

 

 

 

_**ii.                  (heart), mind, & soul** _

 

Alternate universes are supposed to happen due to a divergence in history, the outcome of certain events, a changed decision. One world may have a certain war won and others, the war was lost. Another world might even have the birth of a person who didn’t exist in another.

 

Jaejoong takes the day off and spends it looking for the reason for the creation of this alternate universe. He vaguely thinks about how quickly he’s accepted this idea, but brushes it aside, arguing that—what else could it be, really? After all, waking up in this strange wonderland, he really hopes it is an alternate universe he’s stuck in and not just some sort of wild dream.

 

A quick glance around the room tells him of the distinct lack of divergence in science, and so he begins by looking up history online.

 

Well, other than that poster, he grumbles to himself, there’s nothing here that’s different.

 

After a few hours’ of surfing the net, he lets out a groan, and rolls over onto his back. The ceiling of his bedroom stares back blankly as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do. He can’t find any major event that changed the course of history, however, he did find a lot on this world’s Jaejoong.

 

This world’s Jaejoong never became a singer. Which would explain his face’s absence on the poster, but doesn’t explain the others.

 

Jaejoong finds articles, multiple articles, citing an accident that Jaejoong never remembers being in. He reads the same, vague sentences in almost every single one of them.

 

Last night, Son Yejun (35), Kwon Jimin (49), Kang Woojin (21) and Kim Jaejoong (16), were miraculously pulled from a blazing car after a three-way collision. Kim, a passenger of Kang’s, was said to have been conscious was he was pulled out. No one knows yet who is at fault. All four are in critical condition.

 

 

 

After the horrific accident nearly two months ago, only Kim Jaejoong (16) is finally released from the hospital. As he appeared at the top of the staircase, looking haggard, and dressed in white cloth which can be assumed to be covering the burns, he whispers three words that leave investigators in a frenzy.

 

“It’s my fault,” he says, and refuses to explain.

 

 

Investigators discovered that Son Yejun (35) had gone out drinking that night and drove back by himself. As his actions were inhibited, he rammed full on into Kang Woojin (21) whose car had had a rupture in the battery, causing an explosion that hit Kwon Jimin (49). Officials will be fining Son and Kang for DUI and failure to maintain a car for the safety of others on the road.

 

 

Three months after the accident, Kwon Jimin (49) has finally passed. She was a prolific teacher at …

 

 

Jaejoong slams his laptop cover down and his eyes quickly shut tightly, warding images of the smiling woman, broken and damaged, away. After a few moments, he finds himself calmer, more able to face demons, and his hand reaches to lift his shirt, revealing a large, ugly, redness that seemed to scab over along his ribcage. He finds it hard to breathe as he makes his way to the bathroom for a closer look.

 

The first thing Jaejoong doesn’t see, when his eyes hit the mirror, is his strawberry blonde, slightly curly, slightly frizzy hair. Rather than the (stylish) cut he had had since—well—forever or even the color he’d had since late January, he’s stuck with a rather average-looking hair cut. He’s reminded of his pre-debut days as he stares at the awkwardly cut bangs and natural dark brown, almost black color hair. He squints and finds that his eyes are uneven. The same thin eyes stare back at him. Although his pupils were large and dark, his eyelids were just barely there and even that lazy eye of his lingered in the bottom left corner he so hated and felt very self-conscious about.

 

He sighs and decides he can’t really do anything about it (or anything).

 

 

It’s when he’s surfing around and just logging out of his email that he finally finds one of the others. After logging out of his email, the website redirects him to the homepage where he finds the multiple news articles linked at the top. One of them catches his eyes, reading in bold words, declaring the line-up for the upcoming Asian Cup.

 

Thinking about Junsu, he clicks it and briefly skims through it, when Junsu’s name catches his eye.

 

It’s Junsu’s name, Kim Junsu, along with a picture of the grinning boy, eyes still retaining the same squinting appearance whenever he found something amusing or was bursting with joy. His hair, a natural brown-black color, was cropped short and spiked up, looking very masculine rather than the singer Junsu Jaejoong had always known.

 

His eyes trail down to the rest of the information.

 

Junsu was currently residing in Seoul.

 

He’s grinning excitedly, as though Christmas had come early, suddenly filled with the desire to see someone other than Yunho or Changmin, until the realization that he still can’t just run out and try to find Junsu comes crashing down.

 

***

 

In the back of his mind, he dully notes that this was the reason why Junsu never joined Dong Bang Shin Ki.

 

***

 

Infinite’s Nothing’s Over suddenly begins playing and Jaejoong jumps, searching around for the source, until he realizes the sound is very, very close to him. He digs under the mounds of blankets and pillows to find a sleek, black cell phone. He stares at the foreign mini-hour glass keychain that’s attached and briefly thinks of his own phone back home, the white one with the large stuffed rhino keychain, and reads “Sangmi” on the screen.

 

He answers it with a quick, if not professional “hello” and briefly wonders where he’d obtained that (certainly, not when he was a Dong Bang Shin Ki member).

 

“Hey, Jaejoong?” a female voice greets him.

 

Jaejoong swallows his own spit and croaks out a “hello”.

 

“Wow, you do sound sick. Yunho called earlier—don’t know if you were there or not—but he said something about how you weren’t feeling well and all and decided to take the day off. Jeez, way to go—the way he said it, it sounded like you were willingly abstaining from cooking,” she rambles, “anyway, just wanted to make sure you were getting better.”

 

“Thanks,” he whispers, and adds: “Sangmi”, almost like an afterthought.

 

She hums a familiar tune under her breath for a few moments and during those few moments, he finds himself humming along with her. “You’re coming in tomorrow, right?” she asks, “I mean, that is, if you’re still feeling better?”

 

Jaejoong reaches for his wallet and pulls out the many I.D.s his other stuff had carried. There’s one that answers his question: the one that states his position as a barista and (sometimes) cook at a local café and restaurant downtown.

 

“Yeah!” he manages to get out as he stares at the many photos that’s followed, “’course!”

 

“Awesome—‘cause—“ here, she laughs, “the other customers were getting worried. They thought you’d gone and died or something—you never take off work, really…”

 

He can hear the affection in her tone and wonders what kind of relationship they have.

 

“Alright—oh! I almost forgot! I have something for you so you’d better come tomorrow to pick it up!”

 

Jaejoong slides into the role of one of her close friends almost too easily as he exchanges a laugh. “Of course! See you then!”

 

She hangs up with a laugh and he’s left wondering how he managed to slip into the other Jaejoong’s role so quickly.

 

***

 

Yunho doesn’t come by again the next morning, so Jaejoong takes it upon himself to wake up at 6am sharp to get ready for day’s work. Although he knows the something is wrong with all this, a part of him can’t help but feel gleeful at the opportunity to be, well, normal. He Google Maps the place and leaves about an hour early, arriving with almost exactly forty-five minutes to spare.

 

The doors to the restaurant are mercilessly unlocked and he lets himself in.

 

A woman, decked out in the plain black polo and white-contrasting apron, at the front counter, fumbles with one of the coffee machines as she manages to greet him. “H-Hello!” she says, “I’m sorry, we’re not yet open—“ she spins around, a tiny, bound of black hair bobbing atop her head, and stops, staring at Jaejoong for a few moments before breaking out into a huge smile.

 

“Jaejoong!” she says, “wow—you’re—you’re here early for once!”

 

Almost naturally, he puts his hands on his waist, and mockingly answers, “what are you talking about? I’m always early,” he declares and doesn’t know if this was actually true. His eyes catch the name on her tag, hanging just above her left breast. Sangmi, he thinks, confirming his suspicions and pleased now that he can put a face to a voice and name.

 

She spins around, turning her attention back to the coffee machine. “Anyway, since you’re here early, you can help me set up. Just go over to the Guac-machine and make sure it’s not empty, alright? Check the others, too. And don’t forget to put your name tag on,” she adds, tossing him a tiny gold-plated pin, “you’re on the counter today.”

 

Jaejoong catches the name tag and reads just plain old “Jaejoong” on it. He smiles and pins it on.

 

“Yes, m’am,” he jokes and moves along to get ready for the busy day.

 

***

 

A few more workers trickle in as eight-o’clock gets closer and Jaejoong obligingly greets them with smiles and formal words. He can’t help but think this is all too good to be true—to live a life away from all the crawling and screeching fans, the constant flashes of cameras, the lawsuit. But a rock settles at the bottom of his stomach as his mind wanders back home.

 

“Er—Jaejoong?”

 

“Ah! Yes! How can I help you?” he gives the customer his best smile and looks up at Yunho again.

 

Yunho smiles, but looks distant as he glances behind him. “Two mochas and the special, please,” he says, “one mocha with the usual extra-whipped cream.”

 

Jaejoong hums “Hug” under his breath as he punches in the order. “Thanks for helping me yesterday,” he says, almost embarrassingly as he turns around to being filling the order, “don’t know what came over me.”

 

The other man shrugs and lets out a smile, revealing the unfixed teeth Jaejoong had adored.

 

As he hands Yunho the drinks, one of the men behind Yunho calls out to him, waving a heavy-set arm. Jaejoong watches Yunho run off towards them like they’re his old pals and recognizes them as the back-up dancers back when he was in Dong Bang Shin Ki. And as though all the air was sucked out of the room, Jaejoong finds it hard to breathe when he realizes Yunho is one of them.

 

__

_**iii.               summer dream** _

 

Jaejoong has a two hour break after the rush hour for lunch before dinner. He slides into one of the now-empty booth, stretches, and lays his head on his arms, and decides that maybe working here wasn’t so bad, even with the busy schedule. He had taken a look at his schedule, finding that he worked pretty much full time, except on weekends where he only worked part time.

 

“You alright?” Sangmi’s voice calls out to him. He shifts and looks up to see her sliding in the seat across from him. He watches her eyebrows crinkle into a roof top at the bottom of her forehead, notes how her hair flew haphazardly free, and takes in her worried expression. “You probably shouldn’t have taken your usual shift,” she says, “you still don’t look too well.”

 

“I’m fine,” he says and sighs, “just tired.”

 

Sangmi hums in response and she shuffles through her bag, groping around for something. Jaejoong lifts his head just as she pulled out whatever she had been looking for and slides it over to him.

 

He stares at the album cover of “Hug”.

 

“Since you’re a huge fan,” she explains, “and I know how hard it is… to get the CD since it’s out of print, but one of my friend who’s a friend of one of the producers at—well, I reminded her that she still owed me a favor.” She shrugs as Jaejoong stares at the glossy photographs of people he never knew personally.

 

“T-Thank you,” he answers, remembering he’s supposed to be choked up and finds it surprising that he is choked up. He opens the CD and finds the artist’s signatures over the CD.

 

Sangmi reaches over and pulls his head towards her, pushing her lips onto his forehead in an almost intimate gesture. “Hey,” she whispers, “don’t mention it… and don’t forget that I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

 

Jaejoong sits back up in shock, grip on the album tightening to show the whites of his knuckles.

 

“What did you say?” he asks.

 

Sangmi casts him a raised eyebrow and a sigh, rolling her eyes, “Do I have to repeat it?” she pauses and straightens her face, “I said: don’t forget that I’m here whenever you need me.”

 

Jaejoong’s shoulders slump and he nods, grateful at the gesture, but slightly confused at his hearing.

 

“Anyway!” Sangmi continues, packing up all the random junk that now littered the table in her process of digging for the CD, “I’m going to be late—Qian’s probably already waiting for me…” she says as she glances at her wrist. As she looks back up, she catches Jaejoong’s confused expression.

 

“Who?” he manages to say.

 

“Qian? You know?” she tries, waving her left hand. Jaejoong shakes his head.

 

“You must be really tired or…sick,” she mutters, biting her lips, “you know? I told you last week—“

 

Foreign words erupt from Sangmi’s bag, and Sangmi digs in her bag to answer her singing phone.

 

Jaejoong tunes out her conversation, wanting to be polite, and instead, chooses to look out the window. He almost gets up when he sees Yunho walking by, towel decorating his neck, completely sweaty, and surrounded by the other back-up dancers. But Yunho looks like he’s having so much fun with the other guys that Jaejoong just sits and stares and wonders what kind of world he’s stuck in.

 

“That was Qian,” Sangmi explains as she clicks the “end” button, “change of plans…apparently she’s coming to pick me up.”

 

The bells to the front door rings and the barista currently at the front chimes a greeting as a girl walked in. Sangmi waves to get the girl’s attention and as the girl walks over, Jaejoong notes that she is pretty, very pretty. Her short, strawberry blonde hair had been cut short into a bob that framed her face perfectly, and when she smiled at Sangmi, Jaejoong thinks she’s breathtaking.

 

The girl walks straight towards Sangmi, the heels of her boots clacking away, and pulls her upright.

 

Jaejoong’s jaw literally drops when the two girls lean towards each other and kiss.

 

“Alright, see you later, Jaejoong,” Sangmi turns around and affectionately ruffles Jaejoong’s hair.

 

“See you, Jaejoong,” Qian calls, waving a thin, pale hand.

 

Jaejoong watches as the two leave hand-in-hand, fingers entwined in a tangled knot.

 

 

It’s 10pm later that Friday night when the door rings and Jaejoong finds himself face-to-face with a fidgeting Yunho. Jaejoong tilts his head, moving from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part I in one hand to Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End in the other. Without realizing it, he smiles and wordlessly points to Harry Potter.

 

Yunho tries to figure out how to set up the movie while Jaejoong’s feet immediately takes him to the kitchen, where he digs around for the box of unpopped popcorn. They settle down five minutes later with the large bowl of buttered popcorn tucked between the two of them and Hedwig’s haunting theme begins to play. Jaejoong leans closer to Yunho’s shoulder and Yunho doesn’t move away.

 

Two hours and thirty-two minutes later, Yunho shakes Jaejoong’s shoulder.

 

“You fell asleep right after the burial,” he explains, “you must have been really tired, “ and he hands Jaejoong a mug, steam wafting up and politely informing Jaejoong of the warm contents.

 

“Yeah,” Jaejoong agrees, “it was a long day at work…”

 

Yunho doesn’t answer. He scoots over next to Jaejoong and the two of them just sit and watch the credits roll. It’s not until Yunho speaks up again that Jaejoong realizes they have been staring at the blank screen for the past five or so minutes.

 

“Jaejoong,” he says, “do you ever regret it?”

 

Jaejoong doesn’t know what Yunho is talking about and voices this thought, but Yunho continues.

 

“Being up there on-stage is great and all,” he’s saying, “I always feel energized—always, dancing away up there… brilliant lights and the fans are screaming, waving lights, and cheering the singers on… but there’s something missing.”

 

Jaejoong swallows spit and wonders if Yunho felt as though he should have been the singer and not the dancer. He waits for him to continue, but Yunho doesn’t. His head slips onto Jaejoong’s shoulder and the two of them sit between the static weaving through.

 

Jaejoong’s voice cracks, but he speaks anyway. “Yunho,” he says, “sing.”

 

Yunho doesn’t react at first, but manages to mutter, “but I don’t sing.”

 

Jaejoong thinks yes you do, and moves his shoulder, the one Yunho’s head is resting on, rotates it so that it irritates Yunho in a way that Jaejoong knows it will, and whispers, “please, Yunho, just humor me.”

 

So Yunho does. His voice is hoarse, low, and rough at first, but after a few lines into the latest Dong Bang Shin Ki song, it becomes the bass voice Jaejoong was so accustomed to hearing from Yunho. And it’s then that the memory of the five of them, singing and laughing and loving each other, hits him with the force of a giant’s club, and leaves his eyes hot with salty tears.

 

“Jae?” Yunho calls, stopping abruptly in the middle of a line, “are you crying?” He watches Jaejoong heaving and trying to calm himself, and leans over, and wipes Jaejoong’s cheeks, “shhhh… just let it out…”

 

“Yunho…” Jaejoong murmurs, “keep singing.”

 

Yunho pauses and starts and Jaejoong’s too busy wiping his tears and remembering the Dong Bang Shin Ki they once were to notice Yunho’s voice, singing something about dreams and worlds too far to see.

 

_**iv.                i’ll be there** _

 

Jaejoong taps his fingers along the countertop to the tune of “W”. The song has been a comfort to him, something that gives him hope whenever he couldn’t see far enough ahead, but he doesn’t notice that his mind is subconsciously singing the song to him. Rather, he moves his head from side to side as his eyes swivel around the café, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar head of Yunho.

 

heyy, how aabout i ttreat yoou? ^^ we ccan catcch up and theres someoone i think youdd be happpy to seee

 

The text is simple and to the point, (and Jaejoong can’t help but smile at Yunho’s inadequate ability to use technology) but he can’t help but think there’s something suspicious in the way it’s worded. As though Yunho had debated on whether or not telling him that there was going to be a third party tagging along was a good idea. Nevertheless, Jaejoong felt eager to meet this person--even if his previous self, the alternate Jaejoong who belonged in this universe, didn’t seem to like meeting new people. (Well, according to Yunho’s text.)

 

The hours pass by quickly and Jaejoong soon finds himself sliding into one of the empty booths. He gives a short wave to Sangmi who smiles cheekily back as she strides out the doors with Qian.

 

A familiar head of hair pops into Jaejoong’s view through the window and the entrance bell chimes as Yunho and his guest enter.

 

Jaejoong stifles his pleased gasp as Junsu shuffles nervously behind Yunho.

 

“Jaejoong,” Yunho says as he slides in across from Jaejoong, “how was work?”

 

He can’t keep his eyes off the anxious Junsu, who although was very much like the singer Junsu Jaejoong had always known, became completely skittish for some odd reason.

 

“It was busy, you know,” Jaejoong answers, shrugging, “like usual.”

 

Yunho stares at Jaejoong as though to gauge his reaction to Junsu’s presence. He nudges Junsu who mutters something about using the restroom and gets up and leaves.

 

Jaejoong’s eyes follow Junsu.

 

Yunho sighs and begins to play with his fingers, “Jaejoong, I know you two had that fight, but that was ages ago… I thought you would have been over that by now.”

 

Jaejoong’s eyes snap back at Yunho. There had been a fight between Junsu and himself? Stammering, he thinks of a quick reply. “Um, yeah, I am, it’s just… I haven’t seen him in a while,” he says instead, “it’s strange to see him dressed like that,” he pointed out, catching a large, black duffel bag lying next to Yunho.

 

True, Junsu, who was on his way back from the restroom, had chosen to wear a neutral colored blazer carefully placed over his dark shirt. The Junsu from back home, the one Jaejoong knew, would never had worn something like that. He would have grabbed a jersey or even a t-shirt lying around in one of the shared rooms and tossed that on. In fact, that Junsu’s nicest and most fashionable clothes probably were due to working in the music industry. But this Junsu, this Junsu had a fashion sense despite being a soccer player.

 

Junsu seemed to have caught Jaejoong’s up-and-down survey.

 

“Yeah,” he says without the hesitation he had shown earlier, “my teammates told me I didn’t have to look so haggard off the field.” He gives Jaejoong a nervous smile at the joke, as though he expected Jaejoong to be mad at him for saying that.

 

But Jaejoong lets out a chuckle at the idea of a fashionable Junsu. The tension that had set in when Yunho sat down with Junsu across from Jaejoong dissipated almost immediately. They settle down for lunch, chattering easily over dishes of hot kalguksu, passing the salt and pepper shakers across and left.

 

It really was rather nice, to just sit across from them and watch them talk to each other. It was rather odd, also, seeing as he hadn’t seen Yunho and Junsu speak face-to-face to each other in about two years.

 

Two years.

 

Had it really been two years already? He thinks to himself as he sips on the hot seafood flavored broth.

 

“Jaejoong?” Junsu asks, “you alright?”

 

Still that same nervous tone, as if Junsu had wronged him and sought for forgiveness. Jaejoong shook his head. “I’m fine, not to worry,” he answers, easily, “just a bit tired. Didn’t have enough sleep last night,” he reasons. Probably because he was wondering whether or not he should have been trying to find a way home, or even the others. There were the three of them now: Yunho, Junsu, and himself. What if he found the others? Would that help?

 

They finish and the three of them head out the door, leaving cash and tips behind. Yunho turns to Jaejoong.

 

“You need a ride home?” he asks, casually, almost too casually.

 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Jaejoong answers. They begin to say their good-byes to Junsu, but Jaejoong launches himself into Junsu’s arms, reveling in the sameness of both Junsu. Reveling in how different and similar the two Junsu’s were.

 

As Jaejoong pulls himself away, he finds that Junsu’s face is slightly pinker than normal. Junsu’s eyes can’t seem to move from the spot on the ground and Jaejoong glances down to see what Junsu’s so interested in.

 

“So you forgive me?” Junsu’s voice is a whisper. Like he hadn’t intended for Jaejoong to hear and if Jaejoong hadn’t just hugged Junsu, he probably wouldn’t have either.

 

“Of course,” Jaejoong answers, “always.”

 

But he’s left staring at Junsu’s back as Junsu cheerfully waves good-bye, climbing into a friend’s car. He’s left wondering what on earth Junsu had done to make him ask Jaejoong for forgiveness in such a way; wondering why.

 

***

 

On the way back, Jaejoong frowns as he watches the beautiful streams of light radiating from passing vehicles. He turns to Yunho.

 

“What did I do?” he asks, watching Yunho carefully for a reaction. Yunho casts a quick, almost careless glance, but on closer inspection, he was found to be suspicious. He doesn’t say anything at first, as though he was afraid of making Jaejoong mad, which was silly as Yunho had often seen Jaejoong mad and could handle him. But that was the other world, wasn’t it?

 

“All three of us were trainees in SM Entertainment,” Jaejoong can hear the beginning of a long story. “We were really close,” Yunho pauses, trails off, as though he’s seeing the past. Jaejoong wishes he could see with him.

 

“You know, me and you, been friends since we bumped into each other and found out we were heading the same way,” he says. There’s an unspoken “trying to reach the same dream”. “It was almost like fate. We met Junsu and all three of us hit it off right away. We always hung around each other,t old each other everything.” Yunho licks his lips, “after the accident and finding out that you couldn’t sing as you used to, you dropped out of SM.” He turns to Jaejoong and Jaejoong nods, as though he already knows this.

 

“Of course, no one blames you. It was…rather expected,” Yunho adds hastily, “but you never stated a real reason, never said, so none of us really knew what was going on. At that point, our friendship was becoming strained. Scouts heard about Junsu and offered places for him. He was pressured, you know. Two things he loves the most and the chance—two chances—to make a career out of it. Both were just as unstable as the other. Both…were tough to compete.

 

“Junsu chose to play soccer instead of singing. You got mad at him when he left Seoul and haven’t spoken to him since…haven’t forgiven him.”

 

Jaejoong lets this sink in. “But why?” he asks, mostly at himself.

 

“I think…you don’t want to forgive him because that meant you had to forgive yourself, too…for not trying to stop him, for not trying to make him stick to singing…to…” Yunho trails off again and there’s a silent, stay with me said. There’s another pause as Yunho pulls up into the flat’s parking lot. He shuts off the engines, but allows the two of them to sit in the dark.

 

“Is he happy?” Jaejoong finally speaks.

 

“I think so.”

 

“Good.”

 

_**v.                   hello again** _

 

The days pass by, months. Everyday consists of waking up at an ungodly hour, working odd shifts at the café, taking lunch with either Yunho or Junsu or both or neither, and then hanging out with them (or even Sangmi and Qian). The two girls were unique, he thinks to himself, back to a particular incident. It was slightly awkward—he felt as though he was the third wheel, the one intruding on a date. But Sangmi insisted Jaejoong needed to get out more often and Qian said she didn’t mind. The three of them had set up a day at the mall and Jaejoong had to admit: he had fun. It was liberating to be able to walk through the mall without resorting to concealing his face, wearing masks, a large pair of sunglasses, and nondescript clothing. He had even chosen out his outfit before realizing that he didn’t really need to think about those things. (He spent the next hour frantically putting together another outfit.)

 

When he had lamented his struggles to find an outfit, Sangmi and Qian had delightedly insisted that he try on some of their chosen outfits. He shuddered at the vivid image of a slinky black dress and that pair of leather pants. He didn’t think he could stomach his lunch at this point.

 

The café door bell rang and Jaejoong class out almost bored and mechanical: “Welcome!” He’s busy wiping up stains left by previous customers at the front counter, and only looks up when the new customer comes over to order a cup of extra dark roast. Jaejoong tries to pick up his jaw as the hard eyes of Shim Changmin stare back at him in annoyance. Well, that was familiar.

 

“Can I get my order? Oi, you hear me?” he grits out. Jaejoong shakes out of his stupor and nods, barely able to contain a smile at the thought that Changmin was talking to him.

 

It had been a long two years. While Yunho did answer his texts from time to time and picked up class on a lucky chance, Changmin never answered any of Jaejoong’s attempts. He passes the steaming dark roast and Changmin takes it, almost greedily. He eagerly sips the hot beverage and moves to take a seat in a booth in one of the quiet corners, setting down a large and very heavy-looking backpack beside him. Jaejoong watches as he pulls out a heavy textbook—Physics, Jaejoong reads—and flips it open to a bookmarked page, eyes skimming the text.

 

It must be finals week, Jaejoong thinks.

 

As the afternoon progresses, Jaejoong tries to sneak glances over at the corner where Changmin was studying hard. He wants to say something, something like “hi, how are you” just to get to know the kid, but he can’t move away from his counter and by the time his shift’s over, Changmin would be gone. Well, that’s what he thinks.

 

But when the clock chimes six in the evening and the end of the shift for Jaejoong, Jaejoong mentally cheers, and heads for Changmin’s booth. He slides in without any outward reactions from the college student and watches him.

 

“That’s a bit creepy, you know,” Changmin says without looking up from a complicated-looking calculus problem.

 

It’s weird to talk to someone so quickly and Jaejoong knows he’ll be accused of hitting on Changmin, but he can’t let this opportunity pass. What if he never sees Changmin again? What if this is a one-time thing? What if?

 

Jaejoong shrugs. “What are you studying?” he asks, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the answer, 2.45.

 

Changmin shoves his stuff closer to the window. “Just math,” he answers, vaguely gesturing to the pile of messy graphs and scrap paper used for calculations.  He stares up at Jaejoong. “Don’t you work at the counter?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I do. Just got off my shift,” Jaejoong answers, pleased that Changmin’s actually holding a conversation with him. Desperate to keep the conversation going, Jaejoong randomly fished for a topic: “what’s your major?”

 

Changmin stares at Jaejoong as though he couldn’t believe Jaejoong had just asked him such a question. “I’m pre-med,” Changmin replies. He stares at Jaejoong for a little while more before turning back to his work.

 

They sit like that, Jaejoong across from Changmin’s busy form. Jaejoong orders something for the both of them, picking out Changmin’s favorite dish. Changmin’s eyes at flown up in surprise at the appearance of his favorite seafood ramen, but doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence, neither needing to speak, nor looking at each other. When Changmin is done with for the day, he packs up, and leaves without another word.

 

Jaejoong’s disappointed, but then, Changmin doesn’t really know him.

 

The next day, Changmin comes in, bundled up in a hat and scarf that was almost too atrocious to look at. He’s holding the same heavy book bag and heads straight for the same booth as yesterday. Changmin orders the same extra dark roast again and Jaejoong makes it without batting an eye.

 

When his shifts’ over and done with, Jaejoong slides across from Changmin’s booth once again.

 

They continue this pattern until the week is nearly over and Jaejoong knows that tomorrow would be Changmin’s last final. Changmin’s muttering to himself the notes he had taken for a history class while Jaejoong sips his hot chocolate and watches.

 

“You’re strange, mister Kim Jaejoong,” Changmin says without looking up from his notes. He flips through the pages, eyes skimming the highlighted words, and mutters foreign words under his breath. “I don’t really understand you. I’ve been watching—you talk to me, only to me—sure you say hi, how are you to everyone else, but you ask me about my life and invading questions. I’m the only one you choose to sit across from, the only one you treat to extra bowls of hot ramen on the house. Why are you so interested?”

 

Changmin looks up. Jaejoong’s mouth is opened, ready to argue. But he closes it and instead, asks: “how do you know my name?”

 

Changmin rolls his eyes and points to Jaejoong’s chest.

 

Right, his name tag.

 

“Tomorrow’s my last final,” Changmin says after a long silence, “which probably means that I won’t be here tomorrow afternoon.”

 

Jaejoong takes a sip of his coffee and sets it down. He doesn’t answer, but chooses to look outside the window instead. He knows this and all he can think is: at least I found Changmin.

 

But Changmin arrives in a haze of flurry snow-white flakes the very next afternoon. It’s bright out, and although the harsh wind scratches at his face and Changmin’s face is flushed with victory. He walks over to the counter, where Jaejoong hands the customer a warm hot chocolate, and happily—almost gleefully—cheers, “it’s over! My finals are over!”

 

Jaejoong’s face splits into a grin; he was so sure that he’d never see Changmin again—at least—not until the end of next semester, but here he was. Tall and proud, and so young, standing right in front of him, cheering about finals, telling him. It even looked like Changmin had come straight from the exam. Jaejoong couldn’t stop a feeling of warmth from bubbling up to his throat.

 

When Jaejoong’s shift is over, he slides across from Changmin’s booth once more. Rather than studying, Changmin’s playing around on his laptop he had brought. Jaejoong orders some ramen for the both of them and they begin to eat in silence.

 

“You’re Kim Jaejoong,” Changmin suddenly says in between mouthfuls of hot, spicy ramen.

 

Jaejoong gives Changmin a raised eyebrow. “Yes,” he answers, almost slowly, “you pointed out that I wear a name tag yesterday.”

 

“You wanted to be a singer,” he continues as though Jaejoong hadn’t said anything, “but you were in an accident. So you stopped. Had to really.” He finally looks up. “I wanted to, too. Sing, I mean. But my sister got sick, really sick. So I decided to go to university, study, and help her.” Help her.

 

“Why are you telling me now?” Jaejoong asks.

 

Changmin stares at Jaejoong, eyes mismatched with nervous laughter. “Because I feel like I know you. I feel like you’ll always be there for me, that you’re someone I should get along with. Even though I’ve never seen you before in my life, I feel like…I trust you.”

 

“I trust you, too,” Jaejoong says. Changmin smiles, that same smile with the mischievous mismatched eyes. He holds out a hand.

 

“Name’s Shim Changmin,” he introduces himself, “but somehow, I get the feeling that you already know my name.”

 

Jaejoong grins. “Nice to meet you, nevertheless,” he answers and takes the proffered hand.

 

_**vi.                colors ~ melody & harmony** _

 

Jaejoong had been mulling over the other’s location ever since he had arrived. Now, he knows that Yunho lived next door, Junsu was a star soccer player and often traveled, Changmin was a student at the university, and Yoochun—Yoochun was probably still in America. Yoochun was still in America, Jaejoong thinks to himself, forlornly, mourning the loss of a great friend. Yoochun wouldn’t have any reason to come back to South Korea now that it seemed DBSK wasn’t in business, now that they didn’t seem to recruit America-Koreans anymore. There was no way, no possible way Yoochun could be in South Korea at this point. And that left an ache in his heart.

 

“You okay?” Changmin asks, sipping a cup of hot mocha decorated with whipped cream. He points to a pastry in the glass display and Jaejoong moves to pack it, adding an extra chocolate chip cookie on the house because he knows that Changmin would not be satisfied by one measly Danish—even if it was filled with sugar and cheese.

 

“Yeah, just thinking,” Jaejoong answers, handing the paper bag over the counter. Changmin continued to come visit Jaejoong every day after class; some days, he would stop by for a few minutes, only to buy a quick snack or drink. Other days, he stayed for hours on end and Jaejoong would sit with him after his shift ended and they would sit together until the café closed. Although finals were over, Changmin found the quiet café a warm welcome for his study place. That, and he had become much closer with Jaejoong.

 

“You know the other day?” Jaejoong continues, as he caught the look on Changmin’s face, the look—or glare, depending on how you look at it—that screamed in outrage at the lack of answers. “The other day, when I asked you what you thought about parallel universes and alternate dimensions?”

 

Changmin rolls his eyes and bites into his Danish. “It’s parallel dimensions and alternate universes, hyung,” he says.

 

Jaejoong waves his hand carelessly. “Yeah, that—anyway, and I told you that I believe they exist and we have counterparts who are probably singers and they were almost like the god of boybands? And that it was me, you, Yunho, Junsu, and this other guy?”

 

Yunho and Junsu had stopped by one afternoon while Changmin had decided to stay. Upon seeing the three of them together in one room, Jaejoong seized the opportunity and made sure they met. Within minutes, the group of four were chatting as though they had been friends for years and Jaejoong remembered thinking, about eight years, actually. They had known each other for eight years and they didn’t know it.

 

Changmin swallows another mouthful. “Yeah, and that I think you’re absolutely nuts and need to lay off the sci-fi and whatever you sniff at night?”

 

“I don’t even watch sci-fi,” Jaejoong argues, thinking of his Changmin, the one who belted out screams and blows to Jaejoong’s arms, the one who sat on the couch in their apartment, munching on bags of popcorn and watching re-runs of Star Wars, “and I don’t sniff anything.”

 

“Right,” Changmin elongates the word, “so this Yunho is a back-up dancer and Junsu is a soccer player?” Jaejoong nods. “So why are you just working here? Such a lowly job…fits you.”

 

Jaejoong unconsciously slaps Changmin. “’Cause I didn’t want to sing alone,” he explains, guessing that that was what the other Jaejoong thought and he realizes it’s true.

 

“Anyway, why are you so depressed?” Changmin continues. He’s licking the crystallized sugar off his fingers now and paying more attention to that than to Jaejoong.

 

“That fifth guy,” Jaejoong pauses, “what if he never shows up and he’s supposed to?”

 

“Why are you so hung up on this parallel dimension stuff?” Changmin asks, eyebrows furrowing atop his eyes. If Jaejoong didn’t know any better, he’d say that the younger boy was worried.

 

Jaejoong debates with himself, unsure of whether or not he could tell Changmin why exactly he was so “hung up on this”. When Jaejoong doesn’t answer for more than a few minutes, Changmin starts to head back to his seat.

 

The windows outside begin to reflect the darkening sky just as Jaejoong slides in next to Changmin. Changmin starts at the sudden invasion of space; starts at the fact that Jaejoong had chosen to sit next to him and not across, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“It’s true,” Jaejoong says, “because I really believe in this, in parallel dimensions and stuff.”

 

Changmin looks up from his reading. “Tell me about this guy then,” he says, sets down his reading that’s due tomorrow. Jaejoong glances down, but eagerly complies, telling Changmin everything from Yoochun’s odd habit of wearing only flip flops to turning down the heat while in the dead of November to his awful excessive smoking to the way he loves staying up late composing or sharing a meal to even his throaty singing voice. Jaejoong pauses only to take breaths. When he finishes, Changmin smiles and says, “better?”

 

To Jaejoong’s surprise, there’s a strange light feeling on his chest now. “Yeah,” he says, “thanks.” But he sighs.

 

“But you still miss him.” It’s a statement, not a question. One that Jaejoong is sure Changmin knows the answer to.

 

***

 

The door chimes, signaling an entry by one of the many customers. Jaejoong doesn’t bother looking up from wiping the table. Yunho’s at practice, Junsu’s off in another city, playing in a big game, and Changmin has classes. Nevertheless, he gives a false, “good morning and welcome—how may I help you?” The customer doesn’t answer, or they don’t hear—Jaejoong isn’t sure which, but he shrugs it off. Instead, all Jaejoong hears is a pair of wet, flip flops squeaking towards the counter. He starts—who in their right mind would wear a pair of flip flops in the dead of winter? Especially when it was raining like today?

 

“Hey there, soul mate,” the customer greets. Jaejoong freezes in the motion of cleaning and looks up finally. The man before him is decked out in a stylish pair of skinnies and a jacket Jaejoong could have sworn was from his own closet. Yoochun moves his arms so that his hands rest on his thin, narrow hips. He gives Jaejoong that same cheeky smile Jaejoong is so familiar with.

 

And Jaejoong can’t help it—he launches himself at Yoochun, encasing his other half in lanky arms and clothes smelling of fresh baked bread and bimbap. For a second, he forgot about being in unfamiliar territory.

 

But all of a sudden, Yoochun pushes him off. Jaejoong can’t help but notice that he looks nervous. Yoochun fidgets and shuffles away slightly. Jaejoong’s mouth is dried; he’s now unsure of what to say. This is Yoochun, his best friend, his other half. Did he remember being in DBSK? Was this the Yoochun who had comforted him—who had shared a closet for the past nearly ten years? Was this the Yoochun who had sung beautiful, sad ballads, who composed heart wrenching and achingly gorgeous melodies? Who cried during “Proud”?

 

“Hey there,” Jaejoong answers, “soul mate.” He licks his lips. “How did you find me?”

 

Yoochun chuckles. “Let me know when you get off your shift,” he says instead, “then I’ll tell you…but for now—“ he holds out a hand, “I’m so very glad to finally meet you.”

 

Meet you. The words echo in Jaejoong’s head and bounces off the inner walls, continually, as though he can’t quite believe Yoochun had said that. He licks his lips again, tasting something bitter stuck between the spaces of his teeth. He pushes on a smile and nods.

 

When Jaejoong gets off in an hour, he approaches Yoochun, finding it strange and slightly hilarious that he had chosen Changmin’s booth out of all the empty space they had. He slides in across.

 

“This is going to sound weird,” Yoochun says, eyes glued to his ring—his fingers spin it around and around his finger.

 

“I’m used to weird,” Jaejoong answers, earning him a weak smile from Yoochun.

 

He took a deep breath and began. “Well, you were in my dreams… I keep… I keep dreaming of you—of singing also, of these other guys,” he looks up, eyes wide, “swear I’m not gay though.”

 

Jaejoong stifles a giggle, “of course,” he complies.

 

“But well, it is odd… it’s like without you four, I was missing something…I—“ he stops, his eyes becoming unfocused, as though lost in thoughts, unsure of how to articulate meaning.

 

But Jaejoong knows; he knows the exact words that describe that feeling. He leans closer, leans in from across the table, and looks straight into Yoochun’s dark eyes. “What do you think of alternate dimensions?” he whispers, enunciating each and every word slowly. Yoochun’s eyes widen.

 

Changmin arrives while Jaejoong is halfway through his story. He doesn’t say anything—just punches Jaejoong’s shoulder instead, sliding in next to him when Jaejoong moves aside. Yoochun raises an eyebrow at this, but continues to listen as Jaejoong prattles on.

 

“I’m Shim Changmin,” Changmin holds out a large, strong hand. Jaejoong grins as he watches Yoochun accept it.

 

“I’m Park Yoochun,” the new guy says, half glancing over at Jaejoong, “I dream about you guys.”

 

“What?” Changmin says at the same time Jaejoong lets out a yelp of surprise. Jaejoong pushes aside Changmin’s bewildered expressions and chattering questions to introduce himself, leaning over, and offering a hand to Yoochun.

 

“And I’m Kim Jaejoong,” he says.

 

Changmin stops his tirade to give Jaejoong an incredulous stare. “This whole time…you didn’t tell him who you were?”

 

Jaejoong shrugs carelessly. “I thought he knew.” He feels his heart clench. He doesn’t, he doesn’t know. He—he’s just a copy—like all the others. False. Where is he? What is this world? This…hell?

 

“So we’re all here,” Changmin says, “well, not here, but you know where we are now,” Changmin adds hastily. Jaejoong nods. It doesn’t matter—although copies, they still retain bits and pieces of the people, of the brothers Jaejoong loved so dearly. Yoochun was proof of that—he dreamt—dreamt of the other world, of being Micky Yoochun.

 

“We should have a gathering,” Yoochun says as though he read Jaejoong’s mind. They share a grin as Changmin groans and the words are out faster than even Changmin could think them.

 

“Ugh, I hate it when you two do that.” He freezes and whispers, “but that’s the first time they’ve done it in this world.”

 

To Jaejoong, it seemed like the people were blending. His world and this world were melding into each other with the reunion of the fifth member. Not that he was complaining but, what on earth did this mean?

 

_**vii.              tea for two** _

 

As much as Jaejoong loved the simplicity of life at the café, after months of not singing, not recording, not touring, he was beginning to get antsy. He needed an outlet, needed to move around. Jaejoong begins to spend the mornings whenever he doesn’t have work with Yoochun. They two of them would walk around the town. As Yoochun was only visiting, he didn’t know the places. It was then that Jaejoong notices Yoochun’s heavily accented Korean—it’s funny how he had to have been surrounded by other Korean speaks to notice it.

 

Because Yoochun was staying with a relative, the two retire in Jaejoong’s flat and upon entry, Jaejoong welcomes the quietness of it with noise and drunken laughter. It was also as if he was back—if he closes his eyes and ignore Yoochun’s accented Korean, ignores the familiar yet foreign touch of carpet, he can visualize home… it was like he was home.

 

They open up another bottle and Yoochun laughs without consequence as Jaejoong snorts inelegantly, spraying alcohol everywhere by his nose.

 

There’s that eerie feeling again. The same feeling he had when he woke up in this place…did that mean--? Jaejoong jumps up, but groans when a hammer comes up to greet his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, rolling around until he finds some semblance of familiarity. He gropes around until his hands grabs onto a fistful of Yoochun’s hair. Yoochun groans in reply and Jaejoong quickly lets go. A noise sounds, a noise very similar to a washing machine, Jaejoong thinks, and wishes it would stop—wait, he didn’t—he wasn’t washing clothes, was he? Jaejoong’s suddenly over and pulls himself up just as a soft “thud!” a heavy thump resounded in his bedroom.

 

Jaejoong detours to the kitchen for aspirin. He takes the whole bottle and makes his way to the bedroom (not his, he thinks, because there’s another Jaejoong—who—by the way, where was he?).

 

The door is open and Jaejoong peers in. Nothing seems wrong—except—what was that? It was glaringly obvious in his small bedroom. A very blue, very tall, and very small box stood near the window. It was almost like a phone booth, but very rectangular in shape, and a quick glance at the sign and door confirmed it. But there were only small windows and the words, in English, read: “POLICE BOX”. What was a police box? Was that a telephone hanging there? Because Jaejoong could get a closer look, the door opened.

 

A man walks out. He’s half-leaning out the door and Jaejoong is struck by the very foreign features of this man. He runs his large, flat hand through wavy brown locks, long for a male, and then brushes it across his flat double chin. It looks odd against his entire face and a nose that stuck out a bit too much. “Good, no need for that just yet,” he mutters and saunters out like a deer beginning its first steps. His clothes are torn—the tie, patterned earth hues is the only thing that looks undamaged, hanging, swinging in front of pale blue tatters. He rolls up his torn sleeves and turns back to look at the blue box.

 

“Oh no! What has she done! Look at you, you poor, poor thing…” he cries, and runs next to the box, wrapping lanky arms around it. The box lets out more smoke and a spark nearly hits the mad man, causing him to reconsider his actions.

 

Jaejoong decides he should stop drinking so much—even with Yoochun here.

 

As though the foreign man hears Jaejoong’s thoughts, he spins around, eyes caught on something behind Jaejoong.

 

A slow smile creeps across his oddly-shaped head. “What is that?” he asks, annunciating each and every word very slowly, very carefully.

 

Jaejoong spins around and catches the strange man’s gaze on his laptop, the one with the crack stretched across its screen. As he spins back to tell the strange man that he should probably get out, the man races past Jaejoong and towards the laptop. He pulls the laptop onto his lap, half-sitting on the coffee table, and holds out a pen-like object with a flashing light on its tip and an odd ringing, waving over the laptop like a scanner.

 

“What are you doing?” Jaejoong manages to get out, “who are you?” He says secondly. And then sighs, because he’s not sure if the man could even understand Korean and there was no way Jaejoong could speak English.

 

“Interesting…” the man mutters to himself, looking up now, as though in thought. He ignores Jaejoong’s question and lets the laptop fall onto the sofa nearby. “The center of the explosion must have even reached here… and then, cracked through that, causing a vortex or some sort, allowing for—“ he stops at the look on Jaejoong’s face.

 

“Right,” he realized, “introductions!” His grin is back on and he claps his hands together, “I love introductions!” Without another word, he saunters up to Jaejoong and holds out a large, flat hand. “Hello!” he says, in a strange, lifting, high-pitched voice, “I’m the Doctor.”

 

It takes Jaejoong a moment to realize that the Doctor is speaking English and most importantly, that it’s a strange English. Not like the drawling way Yoochun would speak English, but a more annunciated, more accented, lifting English. It was different. It takes another moment for Jaejoong to realize that he could understand the man.

 

“That’s not a name,” Jaejoong says.

 

But the Doctor gives Jaejoong his most offended look, which, was more like a wounded puppy. “Oi! It is too a name!”

 

“Right,” Jaejoong says, unsure what to believe now, “I’m Jaejoong.” He says and wants to take it back because who gives their name to a stranger who popped up in the middle of their living room flat? But there’s something about the Doctor that makes Jaejoong just trust him.

 

The Doctor smiles and begins to strut back to the big, blue box. Just because the man enters, he turns around in a manner that’s quickly becoming annoying to Jaejoong, and sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture towards the blue box, says, “this is the TARDIS, T-A-R-D-I-S. That’s Time and Relative Dimension in Space!” He shrugs as he turns around, inserting a key into its lock, “she translates for us.” He walks into the blue box and Jaejoong can’t imagine how the Doctor didn’t feel cramped inside. Still, he follows the Doctor in and stares.

 

“It’s…” Jaejoong whispers, staring up at the hollowed ceilings. He’s entered a strange room, a very large and strange room that seemed to never end, seemed to lead on forever and forever through hundreds, thousands of doors. A labyrinth within a small box. The Doctor stood on glass flooring in the middle of the room, playing around with the many buttons and levers and keys as a tall tube about a meter wide in diameter sticking out of the pentagon-shaped console wound up and down.

 

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Jaejoong looks up in wonder.

 

“Yes, it is,” the Doctor says, as he leans on the console, “now, let’s talk about your universe problem.”

 

 

 


End file.
